The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [55]
Finished, Quinones dropped his clipboard on the floorboard, put his pen in his shirt pocket and said, “Let’s take a look inside.”
“That’s illegal entry,” Clayton replied.
“I’m concerned about Staggs’s welfare,” Quinones said.
“His car isn’t here, the cabin is locked up, and nobody’s around.”
“All the more reason to worry. Could be that Staggs is a victim of a crime. Maybe somebody beat him up, ripped him off, and stole his car. Maybe he’s lying inside badly hurt, in need of our assistance.”
“I don’t know,” Clayton said, staring at the closed window curtains. He didn’t need to make another dumb blunder.
“Don’t you want to know if Staggs really duped us?” Quinones asked, reaching for the radio microphone.
Clayton laughed and opened the door. “Yeah, I do.”
Quinones gave Dillingham a heads up on the plan, followed Clayton to the cabin, kicked in the front door right above the lock set, and went in first. The place was empty, but Staggs had cleaned out his clothes, all his small personal possessions, and whatever cash he had on hand. They found no papers or documents of any value.
While Quinones kept searching Clayton punched the last-number-called buttons on the telephone, jotted down the information and ran it. It came back listed to the El Paso company owned by Luis Rojas. He told Quinones.
“Well, well,” Quinones said, “duped we were, so it seems. I’ll fill Hewitt in, and let him know you’re heading to El Paso.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, Clayton.”
At the door Clayton paused and looked back. “Yeah, Sarge.”
“This is a mother of an investigation. You nail the perp’s ass and believe me nobody’s gonna sweat the small stuff. Talk to Captain Vincent Calabaza with the El Paso PD before you go to see Rojas. He’s an old friend of mine. Maybe he can give you some inside skinny on the guy. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
Clayton felt himself loosen up. A grin spread across his face as he waved good-bye to Quinones.
Harry Staggs was petrified, almost unable to speak in complete sentences. Sitting in Luis Rojas’s living room, he got the story out in spurts, telling him about Ulibarri’s murder, the police SWAT team, and his interrogation by the local sheriff and the sidekick Indian deputy.
While Staggs gulped and talked Rojas asked no questions, made no comments, showed no sign of annoyance. He sat on a pale green couch and listened thoughtfully, occasionally lifting his hand to brush an imaginary stray hair away from his forehead.
Seconds ticked off in silence after Staggs concluded his monologue. Desperate for a reaction, he said, “What d’ya think?”
Rojas decided it wasn’t a stray hair on his forehead, it was an itch. He scratched it. “Ingenious,” he said, “but it would have been better if you’d left the girl out of the story.”
“I was thinking on my feet,” Staggs replied, “trying to cover for you.”
Rojas smiled at the stupid little man who had told the police too much. He stood up and patted his flat stomach. At six two and two hundred pounds, he still had the body of the wide receiver he’d been in college, although he’d lost a step or two over the years. “I appreciate that,” he said. “Would you like a drink?”
Staggs nodded and felt some of his apprehension fade. Maybe Rojas wasn’t gonna grind him up and feed him to the dogs after all. “Yeah, Scotch, neat.”
Rojas poured two drinks at the built-in bar and brought one to Staggs. “The police already know that I was gambling at your place, and that I was in my office at the time of the murder, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Except I’m out of business,” Staggs said after he knocked back the Scotch, “and it’s gonna take me a while to sell the cabins and get the money I need to relocate permanently and set up shop again. By that time, I’ll have lost all my regulars.”
“Are you going back to Ruidoso?”
“Not a chance,” Staggs replied. “I gave my lawyer a power of attorney to handle the property sale. He says it’s best if I don’t show my